#gabriel luna

Being the sweetheart of Jackson comes with its perks. 

You’re not one to join patrol shifts. Not one to dig perimeter trenches or be on the lookout for infected or raiders in the distance. Hell, you barely raise your voice in town, and folks just seem to gravitate to you.

Not once have you had any real work to do like everyone else–you sit and look pretty while the world is practically in flames around you. The comfortable town of Jackson keeps you safe from the apocalyptic world outside, and it’s virtually all you know now. Just sunsets dusted over the sky like gold, wooden porches, horses, movies every Friday night. 

It’s never too serious with you, and that’s how you like to keep it. You have the freedom to head out to bars and drink your heart away, sing alone and spend your time however you like it.

Nobody expects much out of you. You’re always in your pretty cowboy boots and tiny tanks, glossed lips, baking for your neighbors and planting flowers.

Maybe it’s your baking. Sugar-dusted pies and muffins that everyone swears are to die for. Or maybe the wildflowers you insist on planting on wooden walkways to bring pops of color to the town saddened by the reality of the outbreak. Or, it could be your smile–looking stitched by sunlight, a certain sweetness that can only come with a warning. 

The rumors say you came from a QZ in Colorado, wearing boots too clean for the end of the world. Some women are skeptical, but many of the men in town are stunned. Two, in particular. They’re wrapped around your pretty finger.

And you, on the other hand, don’t care. You wear that sneaky smile proudly and walk around Jackson calling everyone ‘darling.’ Handing out cookies to children, making friends with the community’s animals alongside Ellie, and sending an occasional wink to the many older and married men of the little ‘commie’ town. Cowboys are a favorite of yours.

You don’t normally need a map to find trouble–or to find men. They find you, and you hear it in the boots clacking on porches and smell it in the sweat and whiskey of Saturday night bonfires. 

You’ve learned how to read a glance. To read pauses, sense held breaths. Quite familiarized with stares.

It’s in your nature. 

So, you sit and look pretty on a daily basis, humming along to old country songs with the warmest voice and making your rounds. While you don’t have your own job, you seem to always help everyone else. You’re a giver. 

When a job needs to be done, they know they can call you. 

And that’s why everyone seems so devout to you–Jackson’s angel and heartbreaker all at once. 

Tommy Miller, though, is a flirt. The man could sweet talk a bloater if he thought it’d wink back. The kind that talks to anything that breathes–but in an effective manner. 

He’s attractive. A smile that belongs on a billboard and the warmest laugh ever that makes women peek over their shoulders. Lucky for Jackson, there weren’t many billboards left–so Tommy’s handsome face is kept safe in the borders of the town. 

And unlucky for you, the man knows how to work that charm a little too well. Often in your direction.

A walking distraction dressed in boots and a perfect Southern twang, he carries himself well despite going through hell–still comes out the other side with a wink and the occasional joke. Where his brother, Joel, is more silence and tension, Tommy is easy laughter and a lazy arm slung around your waist. Before you can even realize he’s too close. 

He always seems to be smiling, even if his mouth physically isn’t.

And it’s unfair. It makes you forget what you’re doing. What day it is. Your own name.

Tommy’s hair is always a little tousled by the wind, messy like he’d just taken off a hat or came in from a horse ride. His tan and freckled face seems to season him, and he wears it proudly. Comfortably. He’s gorgeous.

Strong, sure, after years of patrol and learning to fend and survive after the outbreak. But he doesn’t wear it. He’s laid back, like he’s not trying to intimidate, like he’s so casual and comfortable in his own skin that he doesn’t feel the need to flaunt. He’s the embodiment of warmth wrapped into a gorgeous body of a man–steady hands and touches.

An occasional shoulder bump, knee grazing yours under the table. Even his arm slung around your shoulders while he plants a wet kiss on your rosy cheek during a bonfire. Each touch lingers just enough to make you wonder whether or not he meant it, or if he’s just that friendly.

Joel, on the other hand, is a harder read. 

Tommy is all sunshine stirred into sawdust, and Joel is dusk. Slower movements, eyes that see more than he lets on–he doesn’t say as much as his brother. He’s older, and you can tell. You sometimes see him holding the small of his back when he stands up or hear the crack of his knees when he leans down.

And when he does talk, it’s usually gruffer and quieter. About something pragmatic, not flirtatious in the slightest.

He fixes fences, carries crates by, drops things off you don’t ask for with a small “figured you could use it.”

Not much for compliments.

But he watches, and you enjoy that. The quiet is nice sometimes in contrast to Tommy’s outward flirtation and neverending sweet talk. From across the town square, behind his guitar, over the rim of his coffee mug at his favorite diner in Jackson–he’s always just there. Watching.

Noticing you. The feeling of his dark eyes burning into you makes the rest of the world go quiet, even managing to mute a drunk Tommy on saturday nights. 

Joel has the raw and rough kind of beauty that also doesn’t flaunt itself, but creeps up on you. Broad hands, calloused and rough and capable from years of both contracting and fighting infected. His forearms are tanned from work, sleeves always pushed up to keep out of the way. A salt-and-pepper scruff covering his jaw that doesn’t behave very well, and his hair always sloppily pushed back with his hand.

Compared to Tommy, it’s like he doesn’t own a mirror. Rugged and hardened and messy but so, so gorgeous. Carries himself like a man. The most masculine you’ve ever seen. Big frame, thick and warm like a large space heater. Makes you wonder if all of him is that big. 

He’s older, but not in a way that makes him seem out of place. More like he’s earned the scars and little creaks and marks dug into the crevices of his handsome face. He looks like a fighter and still doesn’t deserve to rest, like he’s carrying something you can’t figure out.

And his voice–god–his voice. Gravelly, but smooth and bourbon-like, hiding something a little dangerous beneath it’s drawl. Everything about him gets to you. The way he keeps greater distance, doesn’t flirt. He doesn’t let himself get close like his brother does, but it ruins you even more. 

So you flirt a little more with Tommy when Joel’s around. Maybe you like watching him try not to look. 

Yes, ma’am. No, darlin.’ 

Their matching Texan accents ring in your head, drawing you to them while you head out in Jackson with an unsurprising batch of cookies–baked to perfection and nestled in tupperware–in your arms. 

The sun today is high, but not cruel, casting a warmth over the town that makes it look as golden and sugary as the pies you normally whip up. Kids are running barefoot down the road while their fathers work on splitting wood. Someone is playing their radio out of an open window. 

You can hear the faint and tinny country music over the hum of townspeople going about their normal afternoon routines. Taking your time for a nice stroll, you have an apron tied around your waist and maybe a hint of flour streaked across your denim-clad thigh. Like your badge of honor.

And, like always, you’re not in a rush. What’s the rush when there's a dozen voices calling out to you when you pass by the men working? 

“Smells like cinnamon again.” One calls out, giving you a charming smirk while obnoxiously chewing on his gum. Hot.

You laughed, but waved them off. Okay, maybe you gave him a wink.

But it’s just a batch of cookies, nothing too fancy. Chocolate chip with a sprinkle of coarse sea salt on top for the added flavor: your signature. You’re not trying to cause a stir, it just comes to you. People happen to notice when you walk by, smelling of baked goods and looking like the sweetest girl Wyoming has ever seen. 

And then, like an answer to a distant prayer, there he is. Your favorite of Jackson’s men. 

Tommy Miller, shirt half unbuttoned and clinging to his broad chest and shoulder blades with streaks of sweat. He’s standing in the gravel yard beside a pile of fresh cut logs. An axe in one hand and a rag in the other.

He’s mid-wiping the sweat off his forehead when he catches sight of you, dragging it along the back of his neck right after while he presents his usual ever-charming smile. Cheeky, but slow. And so, so handsome. 

Normally, you just shoot him a smile and offer a small glance up and down–occasionally narrowing in on his crotch. So you do the same–smile, wave, move on with your day. 

“Hey, hold on.” This time, his voice pulls you back. Easy, like he doesn’t want the moment to end quite yet. Needs a good look at you, a taste of the cookies you’re holding. Maybe of something else. 

He seems to take interest in the outfit under your apron when you stop: a pretty little white tank made of cotton and decorated with innocent lace. Big jeans held up by a dark cherry-colored red belt, matching maroon cowgirl boots thrown on your feet. And maybe he wants to know if what you’re wearing underneath would match the so-perfectly planned boots and belt technique. 

He doesn’t move, not really. One hand is still resting on the axe handle, the other now supporting his weight against the chopping block. Leaned over and propped up on his hand, shamelessly checking you out. Sweaty. Gorgeous. 

“You in a rush? He smiles, tilting his head just slightly to the left.

“Uh-uh. Not unless there’s a line somewhere waiting on these cookies.” 

You giggle and lift the tupperware, showing off the newest batch of everyone’s favorite sweets. Better than the bakery’s, that’s for sure. Your smile distracts him for a second, the pretty gloss pasted over your lips luring him in like a siren.

Tommy chuckles, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. Kind of makes him look like an asshole. But you like it. 

“As far as I know, I’m the only one who should be getting a fresh one.” He raises his eyebrows, letting go of the chopping block of wood and setting his trusty axe down. He steps closer, resting his thick fingers on the lid of the container.

“Please?” 

He looks down at you, a manipulative smirk crossing his face. His gaze is switching between your face–your lips, eyes, freckled skin–to the batch of cookies you’re supporting. Almost begging.

When he moves closer, you catch a whiff of his scent. Most people wouldn’t exactly enjoy the smell of a man’s sweat after chopping wood for an hour in the summer, wearing a long sleeve shirt, but something about it is alluring to you. Anything that relates to masculinity is alluring to you, really. Musk and the faint scent of cedar from his cologne that was barely holding on but also accentuated by the aroma of the wood surrounding you.

“Fine. One.” You give in to that smile, any woman would. Stepping back, you set the container down on a nearby block of wood, crouching down next to it. You flick your hair back and Tommy is soon gazing at your profile now, the way you bite your lip in focus to get a cookie out for him. Also, the way your ass looks when you crouch down in the dust like that.

You grab one with a napkin, shutting the lid and standing back up to return to him.

“Here. Guess you’re special today. These are actually meant for the preschool.” 

Tommy looks at you for a moment, and this time, his flirting is a little quieter. Muted. Softer. “Special? Not sure I’ve heard that one before.”

You roll your eyes, handing him the warm treat carefully before crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Then nobody’s been looking close enough.” You snort, motioning for him to try the cookie. Your words shut him up for a second, eyes flicking up and down as if deciding something. Looking for the right kind of words.

But he ignores the feeling, taking a big bite of the cookie. You watch his lips as his teeth sink down into the dessert, the way his tongue darts out to clean the crumbs off his bottom lip while he chews. 

And, as usual, his face displays his reaction to the taste shamelessly. He leans his head back, the cookie eliciting a small groan of pleasure from the back of his throat. His head bobs up and down with a nod of approval, of complete satisfaction at the taste of a single bite.

Upon swallowing, he looks down at the treat in his hand and grumbles in delight. “Mmhm. Sweetheart, that’s it. You’ve mastered it this time.”

His reaction is a little dramatic, but it makes you laugh. Makes you proud. Draws out that sweet giggle of yours that he loves so much, which makes him proud in return. 

“It’s the same recipe as always. I did not master it, sweetheart.” You answer, playfully mocking the nickname he likes to use on you. Something about the way that Tommy is an expert flirt changes the way you flirt back. You don’t go easy on him, you’re a little ruder with it–sassy. 

“Yeah, sweetheart. You did.” He rolls his eyes dramatically and mocks back, expression quickly changing back to an amused grin. He finishes the cookie in two short bites, stuffing his face and rubbing the crumbs off on his thighs. 

You go back to the block of wood to pick up your cookies so you can carry on with your day, but Tommy follows. He steps right behind you, wrapping a warm and rough hand around your wrist before you can pick up the container. 

“Hey–hey.” He stops you with a laugh, making your head turn to look up at him. 

You try your best to seem annoyed, but it’s all performative. Really, you’d stay here as long as he wanted. Stay and watch him chop wood, feed him cookies to his heart’s desire. 

“One more. C’mon.” Tommy grins, holding a hand out so you bless him with another. 

“No, Tommy.” You groan, keeping your hands on the container to ensure it stays shut and he doesn’t cheat you for more treats. “They’re for the kids. I’m not gonna keep giving away my cookies to a grown ass man. You had one.”

He grumbles like a petulant child, pouting down at you. It’s annoying, but a little funny. Makes you want to give in and give him all the desserts in the world.

“It’s not for me,” he starts explaining, shaking his head in protest. “For Joel. He’s on patrol, I’m sure he’d appreciate a little snack when he returns.”

The fact that it’s for Joel makes you a little more receptive to the idea. You’re a sucker for that man, for whatever reason. And, unluckily for you, Tommy knows that. Joel Miller is your weakness.

You sigh, shaking your head and slowly opening the container back up. Tommy grins at the sight of the lid coming up and your hand reaching in for a second.

“Atta’girl.” His hand lands on the small of your back while you’re leaned over to get Joel’s treat, a warm presence that brings a flush up your neck and ears. Tommy’s always been a touchy one, especially in comparison to his brother. He loves to swing an arm around your shoulder and ruffle your hair whenever he can. Loves to say things like ‘atta’girl’ and ‘good job’ to watch how you get as red as a tomato.

Once the cookie is wrapped up in a napkin and kept safe in his pocket for Joel, he straightens his back and lets you stand back up, removing his hand from your spine. He rubs the back of his neck, something that would seem sheepish if it was anyone else. But on Tommy, it seems practiced. Like he knows just how to make you wanna lean in even more. 

“Speaking of him,” he starts, pointedly. “There’s a bonfire tonight. Out past the paddock fence.” 

You nod, knowing of it–you’re planning on going already, actually, but you listen anyway.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. Couple folks are bringin’ instruments. Drinks and whatnot. I might even get Joel to bring out his old guitar.” 

You lift an eyebrow in intrigue, especially by the sound of Joel bringing out his guitar. You’d love to hear him play–love to see his big fingers work the chords and strings under the light of a fire. 

“You’re working real hard to make it sound casual, Tommy.” You giggle and tilt your head, finally picking up the container of cookies once and for all. 

He snorts and shakes his head, wiping the sweat dripping down the back of his neck again. It catches your attention, distracting you, drawing you to the sight of little beads against his hot, tanned skin. 

He gives you a crooked, stupid grin. “Yeah, well. I ain’t askin’ the whole town if they’re going. Just you.”

Your heart does the little thing–not jumping, not exactly skipping. But warming up. By the idea of Tommy only asking you about the bonfire. Like he wants you there. It felt like settling into a chair that feels just right.

You let your gaze drift down to the sweat-streaked white shirt clinging to his shoulders and the way the sun is catching on his temples. The crumb of the cookie still left on the corner of his mouth. Hell, he could be selling sins door-to-door and you’d still buy it. Of course you wanna go.

“I was already planning on going. But since you’re asking so sweetly…” You start, drawing out the words teasingly. 

“That a yes?” He perks up, the grin on his handsome face growing exponentially. 

“I guess so. Depends. Will you save me a seat with you and your brother?” You grin and lean back, fingers drumming against the tupperware in your arms. 

Tommy nods obediently, crossing his arms over his chest. They look big that way, especially when the sweat seeps through the white shirt he’s wearing and makes it a little see-through. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

Fuck, that always gets you weak. Being called ma’am–by none other than Tommy Miller, in particular, has you aching. The things you would do to hear that in a not-so-innocent context invade your mind. 

“M’kay. As long as you two behave–and don’t talk through all the music–I’ll be there. See you tonight, Miller.”

You lift the tupperware in a little sort of a wave, sauntered off before he can even say anything else. Left with the little cookie in his pocket saved for Joel. Oh, it’s gonna be a long night. He’s in trouble. 

Later that night, the sun starts to dip low and spill gold light into your kitchen window. That sweet, syrupy light that makes your skin glow. Makes you wanna dance in the kitchen and mess around.

You spent the day baking and then handing out cookies to the kids at Jackson’s preschool–it was adorable. But now, you’re getting ready for a night of drinking by a fire. A self-proclaimed “date” with both of the Miller brothers at once. With the town’s two hottest and beaten up men. 

You’re standing barefoot in front of the mirror, one boot on while you weigh the options. Black, brown, or red? The outfit you settled for was a tiny old denim skirt held low on your hips and supported with the same belt as earlier. Paired with a little red gingham top you’d stitched yourself from scraps.

It was only the right option because it hugs your waist perfectly and clings to your chest, enough to surely make Tommy lose his train of thought mid conversation. 

As hard as you tried to tell yourself this should just be another normal night, another bonfire, another excuse to laugh and drink with friends–it isn’t. You know why you’re going. You’re going to get drunk and mess with two brothers to the best of your ability. Fuck it. 

Tugging a brush through your hair and letting it fall around your shoulder in lazy curls, not too fussy, you stared in the mirror. A dull red lipstick painted over your lips, highlighted by a smooth cherry-flavored gloss. Vanilla perfume on your wrists, lotioned legs–you smell as sweet as the cookies from earlier. Maybe Joel and Tommy would want a bite of you instead.

Sure, the world is over outside of Jackson. But tucked safely in the town, your biggest worry is how good you look tonight. And which brother you’d choose. Or if you’re even going to settle for one.

Your mind drifted as you put on all your jewelry.

Tommy. Sweet-talking and warmed from years in the sun. The biggest flirt you know. He makes you feel like the only woman in the room, looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. There’s something so easy about him, which makes you feel comfortable. 

He’s never boring, just familiar. Worn-in and all feel-good. 

The only issue with Tommy is his flirtatious nature. Sure, it works on you, and makes you feel seen. But if he’s that good with his words, touch, and eyes, he must have too much experience. You’re sure he sweet talks every single woman in this town the same way he does with you, which makes you uneasy. 

He flirts and doesn’t try to hide it. Makes it clear as day that he wants you. But might also want other women, so you’re not sure if he’s the perfect choice. 

Then there's Joel. 

Quieter, broader, and stiller. Doesn’t flirt or talk you up the way his brother does, but hovers. Makes you feel pretty with his eyes rather than his words. 

He looks for too long, staring at you, whether you’re paying attention or not. His rougher voice settles low in your stomach when he speaks, smoke curling around your ribs and heating up your insides–all the way into your cervix, actually. 

He’s much harder to pin down and slower to trust, but Lord, he’s worth the chase. You just know it. 

Something about the fact that he makes it so much harder to tell if he wants you than Tommy arouses you. The slow burn of it all, confusion at each of his lingering glances. It gets you wondering, which eventually leaves you more hot and bothered than Tommy can get you. If Joel’d ever let himself get closer, he’d hold on tighter than his brother can. 

Tommy is more a sunrise and Joel is a storm on the horizon. But they’re both fucking beautiful and dangerous, all at the same time. 

You tap on your bottom lip in the mirror’s reflection, weighing the options. Most days, you don’t let the thought linger for two long. Jackson is small and gossip gets around quick, and you don’t want to ruin the existing flirtatious friendship with one brother and the stolen glances you exchange with the other.

Truth be told, most men wouldn’t be able to handle it very well if they were to find out that one woman was sharing attention with both him and his brother. 

But, fuck, the idea of it?

Two men, both strong and stubborn and so big. So much bigger than you. Older, beaten by years of working. They’re burdened, and it makes them hotter to you in some sick way. 

One with charm and one with intense heat, both circling you as if wanting to worship you and warn you off at the same time. What would it feel like to be in the middle of that want–to have Tommy’s hot breath and mouth on your neck and Joel’s big hands holding your hips down?

You exhale, slow and deliberate. Your thighs squeeze together and you allow yourself a single quiet smirk in the mirror. 

No harm in thinking of it, right? After all, tonight’s just a bonfire. A little whiskey and music and possibly a seat between the Miller brothers on a bench. Not so bad.

So, you settle on the red boots. They match your belt and lipstick, after all. Lacing them up and giving yourself a last look, you head out. 

The supposed ‘sweetheart’ of Jackson, ready to stir up trouble and, hopefully, have her way with at least one brother. 

Later that night, you arrive just past nine. The bonfire is crackling tall and bright, its flames licking up at the starry sky. The scent of smoke curls through the air, sweetened by sap and pine of the surrounding forest. The low hum of voices–and a guitar being tuned–fills the space.

Tommy catches your eye first, sitting on a hay bale near the fire with one boot planted in the dirt and the other propped up on a small stump. He smiles, not flashy this time, but warm. Warmer than the fire, warmer than the heat beginning to return to your belly.

He knows exactly who you’re here to see. 

Joel’s nearby, hiding more out in the corner, further from the fire. He’s tuning his guitar held across his lap, catching sight of you. 

The signature look. He doesn’t smile or wave yet, just lips tightening in a greeting as he holds your gaze. Enough to make your breath catch in your chest. He looks back down like it’s nothing, deciding the strings of his old guitar need more attention than you do. 

Fair enough, you’re already getting enough in that little outfit. From the men around the fire–Tommy, obviously.

You make your way over with a friendly smile, the firelight catching on your smooth bare legs. The glint of your lip gloss and shine of your hair not going unnoticed by the first brother. 

“C’mere. Finally made it!” Tommy pats the spot next to him, thigh brushing yours while you sit. His gaze is quickly drawn to your lap, how short the skirt is–low on your waist but still only mere inches away from exposing your panties. 

The warmth of the fire pressing on the two of you and making his skin glow more than it already does feels good, settling the moment into something comfortable. The familiar hum of the forest at night around you, all of your friends and neighbors gathered around the fire. 

“I did make it. Can’t deny an invite from you.” You flash a smile back at Tommy, already entirely turned toward his body. With a little bit of whiskey on his breath and a more relaxed outfit now, he seems even more genial to see you tonight. 

“Yeah? He chuckles, lifting the hand that isn’t occupied with a bottle to settle it on your thigh. Your smooth, shaven, and moisturized patch of skin that’s all free for him to touch. The bonfire is heating your skin up, and so is Tommy’s touch, making you feel like you’re truly on fire.

“You look good, though. I’m likin’ the gingham on you.” He nods casually, moving the hand up to toy with the bow on the straps of the top. “Lookin’ like a little cowgirl. Would never guess you’re not from the South.”

His voice is so sweet and lazy, more laid back than normally, most likely due to the bottle of whiskey in his other hand. 

“Made this top myself,” you answer, stealing the bottle from his hand and taking a long swig. The feeling of it burns your throat, makes you almost sputter. You’re still so young compared to Tommy, and the intolerance to the strong alcohol reminds him of the fact.

He raises his eyebrows, shifting to face you more, forgetting entirely about the fire and his brother thirty feet away, tuning away at a guitar. 

“Looks real good. I like it.” He takes the bottle back and drinks, slowly, before setting it down on the ground in front of the hay bale. “Almost didn’t recognize you without the apron and all the flour on your jeans.”

That makes you giggle. Of course you’re known to everyone in Jackson as the sweet girl who bakes, constantly lost in a cloud of flour and never seen without an apron. Valid comment.

“Is that a compliment or an insult, Miller? 

“Both,” he chuckles and leans his head back to gaze down your body again, eyes narrowing down on your chest–the way the homemade shirt squeezes your breasts together perfectly. With the way you’re sitting, he’s got a great view down your chest. And you certainly notice–but, obviously, don’t mind. You’re not one to dislike attention.

The whiskey is rough but sweet, lighting your stomach up, and it slowly brings everything around you into a softer blur. The music presses pause on the rest of the world when Joel starts playing his guitar. Low and easy, something old and slow that sinks into your skin.

Everyone quiets down a tiny bit and limits their conversation as Joel gets up and moves closer. Inevitably, he comes right over, plopping down and sandwiching you between you and his brother. 

The weight of the two men on your sides is two very different kinds of attention. Tommy’s is neverending, letting you know how he feels. His hand gravitated back to your thigh possessively when Joel sat down, silently pulling your leg against his.

And Joel’s was muted. Barely looking, focused on his guitar. But every chance he got to look away, it drifted toward your lap with his brother’s hand resting on it. If the guitar wasn’t strewn across his body and covering him, it’d be hard to miss the tent forming over his crotch. 

The conversations around you died down to a low whisper, leaving you able to soak up Tommy’s touch and Joel’s music. His fingers stretched out on your thigh while he let out a satisfied sigh, lazy and confident and familiar on the skin. 

He’d occasionally lean in, whispering all up close in your ear–on purpose, obviously. His breath is warm and smells of the whiskey and faintly of a cigarette he must’ve smoked before you showed up. His touch is unmoving, keeping you grounded by his side like you’re his. 

His whispers are a random assortment, making you laugh and quiver all at once. He’d mention something stupid, like making fun of someone across the fire, or he’d lean in and remind you how good your tits look in that little top. 

Joel’s playing slowed after a while, then stopped altogether. When he sets his guitar aside without ceremony the conversations pick up around you again.

You can finally take a breath as Tommy backs up and it isn’t as quiet anymore. But within seconds, it all gets more intense. Joel finally lets himself lean in and speak, smelling dangerously of cedar and something darker. 

His thigh brushes yours, jaw clenching when he gives you a polite nod. 

“Cookie was good earlier. Tommy gave it to me when I got back.”

You don’t even register what he’s talking about for a moment, awfully distracted by the feel of both their thighs pressing into the sides of yours, especially when accompanied by Tommy’s hand that seems to keep moving higher and higher. 

“Oh, right. Thanks.” For a girl who’s normally confident, you choke up a little. Tommy laughs to himself, covering his mouth and letting his thumb rub the inside skin of your thigh. 

Fuck, they’re actually getting you nervous. This isn’t what you planned for. You turn to look at Joel upon sensing he’s gonna speak again, the slow pull of attraction tightening in your belly. 

But he whispers, glancing at Tommy leaning back with his hand splayed so intimately on your leg.

“You’re lettin’ my brother get real close tonight, huh?”

He questions, finally letting on a small smirk. He’s fucking into this. They planned this. And you’re only just now realizing.

It overwhelms you, but it makes the wetness build in your panties more than it may ever have before. The idea that the two brothers actually discussed this beforehand–sharing you–gets you weak. 

“Pretty dangerous sittin’ between us like this.” Tommy interrupts before you can respond to Joel, making your head snap back around to him. You almost let out a nervous whimper, you can’t even register what’s happening. But somehow, you’re into it. You let it happen.

“Okay? I like it here.” You manage out with a gulp, eyes trained on Tommy before his brother’s hand lands on your other thigh. Still sassy. Both of them tighten their grips, squeezing at the supple flesh shamelessly as if you’re not all in public right now.

Too gone to care.

Joel snorts, shaking his head, and you look over at him now. He’s smiling, which isn’t too common of a sight. Must really be satisfied with their work right now.

“Careful what you ask for, baby.” He whispers and strokes your skin, hand moving up and down tantalizingly. You don’t know who to look at. Hell, you don’t actually know what you just asked for. 

The moment goes entirely silent, the three of you exchanging glances. You–confused, but into it. The two men–seemingly have practiced this scenario millions of times before actually illustrating it. 

Tommy’s watching you with a little half-smile, like he’s been waiting for this moment for longer than either of them would like to admit. His gaze zeroes in on your chest yet again, almost predatorily. Then, to Joel–his gaze is unreadable but filled with more desire than you’d like to imagine.

It hits you. Not fear or nerves, but want. This isn’t something to be scared of. Fuck, you were hoping for it in your bedroom while you were getting ready. You wore this outfit just for the hopes of this happening. Said ‘fuck it,’ so why would you be afraid?

In return, you let your hands rest on both of theirs, fingers trailing lightly over their knuckles. Your thumbs brush their skin, and nobody moves. The fire crackles and everyone nearby is laughing, drinking, and–most importantly–distracted. 

As if reading your mind, Tommy leans in. 

“We could get outta here,” he whispers, almost too casual. “Back to mine. Joel’s. Yours. Wherever you want.”

Your eyes flicker up to his, licking your lips and letting the overwhelming desire shine through once he essentially confirms what’s about to happen. 

“Only if you want to.” Joel adds, ever the gentleman compared to his brother.

Their hands slide a little higher on your thigh, wanting and ready, and nothing else is exchanged but a quiet nod of approval from you.

Yet again, you’re the one left breathless. 

The next thing you know, you’re at Joel’s, laid out on his bed like prey. 

His place wasn’t far from the bonfire, a quiet little house on the edge of Jackson, tucked behind fencing and lots of trees. Quiet in the same way he is. You’ve been here before, dropping off food or supplies, but never like this. Never with your heart thumping this hard, two sets of heavy footsteps made by boots following behind you, two sets of warm hands ready to explore you and converge the different flavors of need in one space. 

Joel opened the door without second-guessing anything, no more ‘are you sure?’ The two men gave you a look for confirmation when you reached the bedroom, and that’s all they needed. You, on the other hand, didn’t even have to answer.

Inside his house is warm, very lived-in. Very Joel. An old lamp in the corner and a woodworking table in the living room where he carves little animals and whatnot. He walks ahead, dropping his guitar in its case by the couch while Tommy peels off his jacket and throws it mindlessly on the floor. 

You stood quietly for a second to process, and they both just looked at you. The air shifts, thick. So, so heated.

And this time, the older brother moves first–stepping close once you’re in his bedroom. You don’t stop him. His hand comes to your waist, rough and solid, checking one last time that you’re still good with a raise of his eyebrows.

You nod wordlessly, and Joel lifts you up by the waist.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear before tossing you gently onto the bed. Neither of them took the time to get their boots off–or yours. Nothing stopping the three of you.

He climbs over you while Tommy stands back for a bit to watch. In seconds, you feel the first pair of lips on yours–firm and grounding. One big hand on the back of your neck, the other slipping underneath you to the small of your back, pulling you up against him as if he needs it. 

Joel tastes amazing. Darker than you imagine Tommy will. More tobacco, stronger liquor. 

Tommy steps forward finally, climbing onto the bed next to the two of you and smoothing a hand over your hip. While his brother is on top of you, kissing you, he waits his turn and instead lets his lips brush your shoulder. 

Their energy is different, obviously, but they move together in harmony. Joel is slower, more intense, seemingly controlling the moment. Tommy is more free and tactical, his touch lighter but never giving up. 

And you let yourself be used. 

Growing up as brothers, they had to learn to share. And, naturally, they carried that ability into adulthood. So Joel gets off, freeing your body to his brother.

Tommy laughs, diving right in and attaching his lips to yours. It’s softer but more playful, like you don’t have to take him seriously in the way you just had to with Joel. He encourages you with his hands on your waist, squeezing and tickling at your sides teasingly.

“Tommy,” you gasp and giggle, leaning your head back and breaking the kiss. 

“What?” He chuckles in return, peppering the kisses down your chin and to your neck, focusing on the soft area just beneath your ear. That way, when he whispers, it feels even better.

You don’t respond, laughing and laying back while he works at your neck so perfectly. Everything is revolving around you right now. They just want to give you everything. 

In minutes, you’re forgetting where you are, overwhelmed by the feeling of not one, but two sets of hands exploring you and worshipping you in every way possible. 

“Pretty little thing,” Tommy would laugh, sitting up and tangling his hand in your hair to give it a tug.

Joel was more quiet, but still whispered little instructions. He was more of a guidance while his brother was the fun part: both necessary in the moment. 

“C’mere,” Joel whispered, moving back on the bed after you all actually took the moment to remove your shoes. He sits back against the headboard and pillows, spreading his meaty thighs and patting the right one. He pulls you into his lap, wrapping a hand around your waist to get you nice and close. 

You comply, climbing right up and settling yourself on his thigh–legs spread and straddling his denim-clad leg. You’re surely leaking and making a mess on it, your skirt pushed up to your waist. 

Joel’s head dips down, nose brushing your jaw while he murmurs and begins to guide your hips. 

“Good girl. C’mon, you can move, sweet girl.” He manages out, hoarsely, with a bite at your sensitive earlobe. It makes you shudder, following his orders and shifting your hips.

The feeling of his jeans pressed against your clothed pussy elicit quiet gasps from your lips, leaning in and resting your head on his shoulder. He keeps an arm wrapped around you, grounding you against him and ensuring you feel safe while getting off on his thigh like this.

By the foot of the bed, Tommy is forgotten now while Joel’s scent and touch invades your brain. He’s fine with waiting his turn, though. He undoes the buckle of his belt, the clank of metal not disturbing you and his brother.

Discarding his jeans, Tommy pulls himself out of his boxers shamelessly, unable to help himself. He’s been hard since you sat down with him at the bonfire in that pretty outfit. Hell, since he saw you earlier today and you gave him a cookie. 

He begins to stroke himself–one hand moving up and down the shaft, stretching himself, while the other rests under his balls and gently tugs at them to heighten the pleasure. His eyes are trained on the way your hips move back and forth on Joel’s leg, the small wet patch he can see forming on the denim fabric, even through your panties.

“She looks so good on you like that, doesn’t she?” Tommy groans, thumb brushing over the tip of his own cock while his brother nods. 

“Mm–real pretty.” Joel grumbles, leaning back and letting his head hit the wall when you let out a particularly pretty little moan. His big hands come back to your waist, squeezing it and holding you tight to guide you in a slower rhythm.

You whine, opening your eyes back up to look into his. Eyebrows furrowing, you pout and try to speed up again.

“Baby,” Joel chuckles, squeezing you harder to keep you in place, to keep you going the speed he wants you to. “Gotta slow down for me, yeah? Be good. Take it slow, relax.”

His words are meant to be soothing and encouraging, but the low tone of his voice that gets you so wet only makes it all worse.

“Want–wanna go faster. Please, Joel.” You whimper, trying to rut your hips and speed up the agonizingly slow pace he’s got you going at. “Feels good.”

“I know, I know it feels good.” He sighs, giving up for now and letting you do it how you want to. Tommy laughs from across the bed, amusement and arousal all wrapped into one while he jerks himself off to the sight of you and his brother. 

Joel only lets you get off on his thigh for maybe a generous twenty seconds before lifting you up, patting your ass in the process. The pressure was building in your belly, tiring you out, making you feel so good. You were approaching an orgasm in a short time, motivated by the arousal the scene itself produced in your brain, but soon were stopped by his big hands. 

“Joel.” You frown, writhing on the bed and reaching down to touch yourself instead when he sets you down. 

Tommy sits up, abandoning his achingly hard cock, crawling up to you and grabbing at your wrist. 

“Uh-uh. Don’t gotta do that, angel.” He laughs, collecting both of your wrists in one hand and pushing them back. You’re pinned down and whining under him, but eventually give up protesting when you remember it's you versus two–very, very large–men. 

He passes your wrists to Joel, who holds them with even more ease due to the size of his hands. 

“Let’s make sure Tommy gets some lovin’ too, sweet girl.” Joel kisses you once, a soft peck, holding you down for a moment to let his brother get settled. Both of you watch as Tommy fully discards his boxers, stripping off his shirt and socks in the process until he’s entirely bare.

The man is a work of art. Tanned skin, some sun damage from always working outside–little spots all over his body, and freckles. He’s covered in hair, which you’d always expected due to the thick head of it he carries. 

His lower stomach, especially. It’s got the most gorgeous spread of tiny hairs leading to something even more beautiful–thick and wiry. Not graying just yet. His cock is long but thin, already red and twitching from jerking himself off to the sight of you just a couple minutes ago. The fat tip of it is leaking desperately, just begging to be treated.

Tommy lays back, seated against the headboard like Joel was, his legs spread out wide. His head tips back lazily, sinking into the bed and patting his thighs. 

Joel lets your wrists go, and you’re lunging forward like an animal in seconds. His thick, hairy thighs open to accommodate you while you kneel between them on the bed. 

“Nice n’ big.” You whisper and giggle, hands on his thighs while you sort of nestle your head down for now. Nuzzling into his crotch, you worship Tommy’s cock–nose exploring every crevice, tongue darting out under his heavy balls. 

He moans out quietly, hand finding your hair before you even begin and wrapping it up into a tight makeshift ponytail. 

“Look at you, baby.” Tommy praises, lifting his hips up to encourage you to take him. You were resting your head on his thigh and taking a moment, but the sight of him literally aching for you has you moving quickly. 

You grab the base of his cock, giving it a slight squeeze to draw more noises out of the man. Satisfied by a little grunt, you snicker and open your mouth, taking his tip into it eagerly.

“Fuck.” He jolts, head tipping back and eyes shutting happily. You focus on only the tip for a moment, swirling your tongue around the head and collecting the embarrassing amount of precum before sinking your head down and taking as much of his length as you can.

You sputter for a moment, just as you did earlier on the whiskey, but regain your bearings and start to move. His tip is hitting the back of your throat as if urging you to take more, but you physically can’t. He’s so big,

Tommy’s hand tightens in your hair, a little rude with the way he’s tugging and forcing your head down. 

“Jesus, Tommy.” Joel interrupts after watching carefully for a few moments. “Careful with ‘er. She’s gonna gag.”

The older brother’s hand comes to your back, gently stroking it to keep you grounded while his brother forces your head down on his cock. Tommy doesn’t mind too much, easing up on the pushing but not entirely stopping. He’s always been much less of a gentleman.

“You’re okay, angel. Go slow if you have to.” Joel whispers to you, patting your back before standing up and discarding his own clothes. You hear the sound of fabric and a belt hitting the floor, and want nothing more than to look.

But you can’t, because his brother is holding your head down on his dick. It’s not all bad, though. You’re still eagerly taking it, hollowing your cheeks and sucking him with near-perfect technique. He’s very vocal, noisily encouraging you to somehow work him even better.

The mattress sinks as Joel returns from undressing, and while you can’t see, you feel where he’s going. While your head is buried between Tommy’s thighs, Joel gently unfolds your body and pulls your skirt off for you, leaving you in pretty panties and that damn gingham top.

He smiles, stretching the elastic of your underwear and letting it snap back against your skin. You gasp.

“Tommy, look at this.” He rubs your ass, giving it a gentle smack, showing off the fabric. It’s little cherries over the same red gingham that your top is made of. Matching, making you look like the prettiest cowgirl they’ve ever seen.

Tommy snorts, opening his eyes and giving your head another push down on his lap at the sight.

“How cute. Bet you wore 'em just for us, ain’t that right?” He smiles and uses his free hand to cup the side of your face, stroking it with a thumb while you suck on him so perfectly. “Fuckin’ slut.” 

Joel shoots him a glance to be nice, because he’s already pushing your head down. He shouldn’t be calling you a slut like that.

“Ignore him.” He advises you, rubbing the skin of your ass that’s now pink from the little slap. He pulls at the fabric, tugging it down gently and working it over your feet before throwing them on the floor. On his way back to your ass, he kisses the back of your feet, ankles, calves, and thighs, leaving a trail of fire all the way to where he really wants to be.

His fingers go straight to the source, not even bothering to spread your legs. He digs two digits into your folds, groaning lewdly at the filthy feeling of how wet you are. Soaking his fingers, soaking the bed underneath you. Genuinely dripping for the two brothers.

“If only you could feel how wet this girl is,” Joel huffs in amusement, slipping his fingers back out and gripping the supple flesh of your ass again. The loss of touch elicits a quiet whine from the lips you have wrapped around Tommy’s cock. 

“I bet.” Tommy answers, groaning and leaning his head back yet again in pleasure when he hits particularly deep in that warm, wet mouth of yours.

Joel grabs at your body with a mix of gentleness and fervor, lifting your hips until your knees are able to support your weight. Your head is down between his brother’s legs, your back arched, and your ass in the air for him to do whatever he desires with.

He leans over you, pressing a trail of kisses down your back–the center of it. Between your shoulder blades and down your spine, while his fingers trail all over your soft skin. Exploring. Taking his time. 

He ends the trail at your back dimples, the spot where your butt and the small of your back meet. One last little kiss before he sits back up, spreading your legs just a bit so he can fit.

Once Joel ensures you’re not overwhelmed with what you’re doing with Tommy, he grabs his own cock and strokes it before gently pressing it against your ass. You moan around the other man’s length, and Joel taps him to let you have a break. 

Tommy releases his grip on your hair, gasping when your mouth comes off of him–a string of spit connects his crotch and your mouth due to the excessive slobbering you’d been doing. Dirty and beautiful.

“Fuck.” The two men say, almost in perfect unison.

You take a moment to catch your breath, glancing back at Joel behind you when you remember he’d gotten undressed.

And, lord, he’s somehow more perfect than Tommy. 

He’s built. Broad, hairy chest and a little tummy coming over his hips. Looks like he works out but certainly doesn’t deny a beer when offered. He’s hairier, even, a thicker and grayer trail leading to his pubic bone that’s pressed against your ass currently.

Older. Seemingly more experienced. He’s scarred and hardened, and it’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen. The mere sight of him makes you moan.

Both of them laugh at the little strained moan you let out, Joel’s hand rubbing your hip while Tommy’s strokes your hair. 

“You like him that much?” Tommy chuckles, kissing your forehead.

You nod mindlessly, still searching for the air you’d lost when your head was getting pushed down. 

“Mm–mmhm. Like Joel. A lot. Fuck.” You manage out, dropping your head back on Tommy’s thighs and resting it there.

Joel smirks and lets the hand on your hip travel back to your ass, rubbing it before gripping his cock and giving it a few small strokes. “Yeah, baby?”

You nod again and groan against the fatty flesh of the thigh under you, kissing his warm skin. Your hips naturally move backward when you feel movement behind you, subconsciously begging for Joel. Your back arches as well, giving him quite the sight. 

“You want it? Gonna take me good with my brother’s cock in your mouth?”

He smiles, teasing your dripping hole with his own leaking tip. Of course you want it. You’ve been dreaming of this all day–maybe even weeks before. But back then, it was a fantasy. Never a possibility in your mind. Now, you’re bent over, face down and ass up between the two of them. You couldn’t want it more. 

“Yes, please.” You gasp out, arching more and forcing your ass back against Joel’s cock. You feel him twitch.

He hums in approval, not saying anything else before lining himself up. At the feeling of him against you, you know what you’re supposed to do in return. Tommy is back in your mouth in mere seconds, and you’re sucking and slurping to the best of your ability in hopes that it’ll get you more. More of Joel. More praise. More cock.

Joel slides in once Tommy looks satisfied, slowly stretching your tight pussy out. The noises are filthy, squelching and wet. 

“Fuck–” He groans, panting and bracing himself by gripping your lower back. He isn’t even fully in yet and he’s ready to come all over you. He’s dreamed of painting you in ropes of release, of fucking you senseless and filling you up with his seed. Now it’s happening, and, God, he doesn’t know if he can even handle a minute. 

You whine around Tommy, but he doesn’t push your head down again. He knows it probably hurts a bit, given the Millers are genetically big men. They let you adjust to Joel before resuming, going nice and slow. 

“Pretty. So fuckin’ pretty, taking me this good. Just like that.” Joel becomes more vocal as he moves inside you, picking up the pace slowly, ensuring you’ve adjusted enough to take his size before doing anything you can’t handle.

The praise makes your head spin. Apparently, Tommy’s is too. You feel him twitch more in your mouth, see the way his hips are stuttering with each little bob of your head. 

So you pick up pace. And so does Joel. Everything gets more intense.

Sucking in your cheeks, you take Tommy’s cock so deep that it hits your uvula, resulting in a soft gag. His first instinct is to let you take a break, but you continue despite the tears spilling from your eyes and the urge to vomit increasing.

Your hands fiddle with his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze that draws out the loudest moan of the night from the man. Success.

If you could smile, you’d be doing it. But he’s so deep in your mouth that you can’t move a muscle–not until you feel hot strings of release fill your throat. 

You didn’t realize Tommy was that close, but he fills your mouth up more than it’s ever been stuffed. You’ve never felt a man come so hard. So much. He’s shaking as he finishes, piping it into your mouth and seeing it dribble down your chin as he pulls out.

“Ah-” he whimpers, actually whimpers, when your lips reattach to his tip to give it a final kiss. 

Joel sees his brother’s orgasm, getting a little jealous. He would give anything to be filling your pretty mouth with his come right now, cleaning it off your lips where it spills out. But he remembers he’s the one inside you, and he has a better dumpster than Tommy does right now. 

Once Tommy’s cock is removed from your mouth, he knows he can go a little harder. He wants to go a little harder. He can actually hear your pretty little moans and whimpers now that you’re not occupied. 

When Joel starts hitting your cervix, the lewd noises slipping from your throat are unstoppable. You still haven’t swallowed the come, gurgling while moaning and trying to keep it in your mouth–almost to savor it. 

His hand comes forward to grip your hair, remaking that damn makeshift ponytail his brother was just using. He tugs, forcing your back to arch as your head flies back with a whimper. He’s fucking you harder now, one hand gripping your hair and the other on your hip to press your cunt as close to him as he can possibly get it, pounding into you at a near-painful speed.

“Joel,” you cry out, more tears slipping from your pretty eyes that are quickly cleaned off by Tommy. You gasp and finally swallow his come, groaning in satisfaction and letting your head fall forward until it’s rudely tugged back by the other brother.

“You got it, darlin.’ You can take it. C’mon now, don’t go dumb on me.”

He groans, the hand on your hip giving your ass a solid smack. You cry out again, squealing with the mix of pain and pleasure. Pain, mostly now, as he’s fucking you deep and painfully harsh.

“Hold her still. She’s shakin,’ Tommy.” Joel leans forward with a growl, draping his body over yours and letting his head fall to your shoulder while he fucks you from behind. His teeth bare, nibbling on any exposed skin he can get, licking and sucking and kissing like an animal.

Tommy’s hands come to your shoulders, holding you still and shushing you while you cry under Joel’s hard body. “Almost there, angel. We’ve got you.”

And within the next minute, you and Joel’s orgasms approach at once. You can tell with him because his pace gets sloppy, hips slamming into your ass uncontrollably and inconsistently. He can tell with you because you’re impossibly more vocal, whimpering out and trembling. 

When your thighs start to shake, he snakes a hand down your body and attaches his index and middle finger to your clit. That’s your weakness.

It’s not even eight seconds after he touches your clit that you’re coming, gasping and writhing and falling forward against Tommy. Joel follows suit, finishing deep inside you and smacking your ass as he comes.

The next thirty seconds go silent. You fell forward against Tommy, he pulled you into his arms. Joel’s now-soft cock slipped out, leaving you pumped full of his seed.

Tommy strokes your hair, kissing your forehead in an attempt to get your shaking body down from the intense high his brother had just given you. The other man lays next to the two of you, senseless now and in his own little world. His eyes are pressed shut, sexy pants coming from his mouth and into his pillow. 

The room is quiet and hazy, heavy with sweat and the familiar scent of sex. It’s absolutely filthy. Wrecked.

Your limbs are all tangled up, breath catching. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s earned. 

The sheets are tangled and damp, clinging to your thighs when Joel manages to sit up. He grumbles, moving closer and cuddling into your side that isn’t occupied by his brother.

On the floor are your clothes, laying scattered and forgotten. Tommy is on your other side, hand curled over your hip and quiet breath in your neck where his head is buried. Joel is curling onto your left, kissing your sweaty shoulder and arm, anywhere he can get. 

And you–God. You’re spent, utterly and completely fucked-out. Used. Wrecked.

You’re past satisfied, actually sure that your bones probably aren’t solid anymore. Your limbs are too heavy to move, cheek pressed to Tommy’s chest and an arm slung over his brother’s body. They hold you like they’re afraid you’ll float off somewhere.

“Nothin’ left in me now.” Joel mumbles, lips brushing your skin. His voice is hoarse and dried out, more of an exhale than actual speech. “Not movin’ at all.”

The only part of him that can move is his fingers, trailing so slowly up and down your spine. 

Tommy nods and huffs in agreement, kissing your cheek and pulling you closer. You just smile–lazy and slow and perfectly wrecked. Everything aches in the best kind of way. You feel as if you’ve been pulled apart and put back together with hands that know exactly what they’re doing. 

Your throat is burning, hips stinging from Joel’s grip, your pussy leaking out his seed. And no one said much. They didn’t have to.

The air is thick and sticky, but also soft. Comfortable. Hearts beating in sync and bodies pressed so closely that you can’t tell where one ended and the next began. 

Tommy is the last to speak–“Might have to stay here ‘til winter. Jus’hibernating.”—and you laugh. Blissed out and tangled between the men. Just laughed, warm and slow, like the fire hadn’t gone out yet.

WOO that was a journey to write. I’m going to hell. Love yall though 💋💋

TUMBLR ONLY LETS ME TAG 50 👎👎 I’m so sorry to everyone else ik i got like over 100 asking to be tagged so i tried my best

You were lying on the table, with Tommy's cock in your mouth and Joel fucking your pussy.

How did this happen? You weren’t sure.

One moment you were eating a piece of brownie after dinner. The next moment, you heard the sound of plates breaking, the centerpiece destroyed, the tablecloth reduced to a shapeless pile on the floor.

You hadn't seen Tommy since the wedding.

When Joel told you he was coming to visit you for Christmas, you were happy. You liked his brother; he was kind and friendly. He had given a really nice speech at the reception, praising you and saying how perfect you were for his brother and how lucky he was to have you.

When he arrived, he hugged you, holding you tight. You passed under the mistletoe you had hung on the living room door, and his lips lingered a little too long on your cheek when he kissed you. You didn't think anything of it; that was just the way Tommy was. Outgoing, affectionate, cheerful.

You forced them both to wear Santa hats, chirping that they were so cute and they both grunted.

Dinner was pleasant. Tommy asked for a second helping of your roast, the conversation flowed, helped along by the wine, Joel seemed in a great mood and laughed as he talked about the day he met you, looking at you with loving eyes.

Then, you're not sure how, the conversation turned spicy. Tommy joked about Joel's jealousy. Joel retorted that it wasn't true, that he wasn't jealous. You laughed, remembering the time he glared at the mailman for stopping a few seconds longer to talk to you.

“Not to mention the day we ran into my ex on the street, I thought you were going to rip his head off.”

“Hey! It's not my fault, that asshole was looking at your tits the whole time!”

You shook your head.

“You could never share me with anyone,” you laughed, looking at your husband.

Joel's mouth unexpectedly twisted into a smirk.

“Want to bet?”

His eyes were dark, seductive, lit up with challenge.

“What's in it for me?” you asked, immediately biting your lip.

Tommy shifted in his chair, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his clasped hands.

He seemed to be enjoying watching the show.

“If you win, I'll do that thing you've been asking me to do since we saw it in that movie” — he meant letting you spank him; watching Secretary had given you some ideas — He paused, watching the smile spread across your face. “But if I win... you’ll let me fuck your beautiful ass.”

“Okay,” you whispered, feeling your cheeks grow warm.

Tommy laughed, throwing his head back. He wasn't one to be shocked by such talk.

“Kiss Tommy,” Joel challenged you.

You looked at him, your jaw on the floor, your eyes wide, your pulse spiking. “Are you kidding me?”

“Why not?” Joel persisted. “What could drive me crazier than seeing you kiss my brother?”

“Joel!” you scolded him, “that’s insane!”

You knew he was tipsy; it was definitely the wine talking.

Your husband was a prideful man, yes, but the fact that he didn't want to let you win and was willing to go this far just to prove he was right was infuriating.

You loved him, there was no one you wanted to be married to more than him. And he was a truly exemplary husband, most of the time. You were happy with him, but sometimes he was so stubborn...

“It's not necessary,” you began to say, “I—”

“Are you giving up, honey?” he interrupted you. “So easily? That's not like you.”

“No, the thing is, it's stupid,” you snapped. “You've had too much to drink, let's just leave it.”

Joel chuckled, “You're a scaredy-cat, sweetheart.”

You felt anger rising in your chest, you jumped up from your chair shouting, “I'm not a scaredy-cat, Joel, cut it out with this charade.”

Tommy stood up, taking you by the shoulders. “Hey, calm down. It's okay. We're just joking.”

But Joel didn't seem to be joking so much.

That cheeky smirk was still there, at the corners of his mouth.

“Coward,” he whispered, shrugging his shoulders.

You felt tears stinging your eyes with anger.

If he cared more about winning a bet than you doing something like that, then you would have done it. Too bad for him.

You turned around, took Tommy's face in your hands, and kissed him, right in front of your husband.

And it wasn't just a peck on the lips; your tongue pushed its way in, and he didn't resist.

His Santa hat slipped to the ground in the heat of the moment.

You tilted your head for better access, literally devouring your brother-in-law's lips.

Joel wasn't the only one who knew how to play dirty and you were determined to prove it to him.

When you pulled away, you were breathless. Tommy's eyes spoke volumes, his face was flushed, his lips red and swollen, wet with your spit.

“I'll be damned, you really know how to kiss, sweetheart,” he hissed, his voice thick, deep, and hoarse.

You turned to Joel, still irritated, still incredulous that he had suggested such a thing, your eyes shooting daggers at him. “Have you had enough?”

To your surprise, Joel had leaned back, his hands clasped behind his head, as if he were settling in to enjoy a movie.

At this point, you were no longer convinced that it was just the wine. Maybe it was a perverse fantasy of his that he had never confessed to you. Maybe he had always hoped it would happen. You didn't know, but what was certain was that he was hard.

Your gaze had fallen to his crotch as you watched him stretch like a cat in his chair, still wearing his Santa hat, and you had seen it.

A tent in his jeans.

You froze on the spot, Tommy beside you, his gaze shifting between you and Joel while yours was fixed on your husband, trying to guess what the hell was going through his mind.

Joel waved his hand, urging you

“please, go on.”

You narrowed your eyes, glaring at him. “Is that really what you want?”

“Yes,” he replied. Serene. As if nothing was bothering him.

And so you threw yourself onto Tommy's lips again.

If until then your brother-in-law had been respectful and had barely touched you, with his brother's permission he abandoned all inhibitions.

His arms wrapped around you, his hands slipped under your top, roaming your back, reaching for the hooks of your bra.

He had snapped them from under your shirt, continuing to eagerly kiss you.

It was a different feeling from kissing Joel. Tommy tasted forbidden. But he was just as hot, passionate, hungry, and even though you didn't like to admit it, he turned you on.

You felt your panties getting wet with every touch of his tongue against yours, your nipples hardening with every stroke.

You hadn't even noticed that Joel had gotten up.

You suddenly felt him behind you, his hands on your hips, his hard cock pressing against your ass.

You moaned into Tommy's mouth when you felt his warm hands on you.

He leaned down to your neck, licking a trail up to the soft skin behind your ear, nibbling on your earlobe.

“You like that, don't you? Be shared. I bet you've rubbed your clit many times thinking about this. You, me, and another man, huh?”

Yeah, you did.

Never thought about your brother in law before, though.

But you had to admit, Tommy is hot. And he definitely knew what he was doing. His hands knead at your breasts while he continued to devour your lips. He pinched your nipples, pulling them, twisting them, coaxing moans from you.

You liked what was happening and Joel was liking it even more, judging by his groans against your skin, almost like a roar, like the wildest part of him was finally freed.

“Arms up, honey” he growled and he removed your top and bra, throwing them on the floor.

“Jesus Christ, baby, your tits are something else”

Tommy was ecstatic, he moved down your neck, on your cleavage, his tongue darted out immediately to flick one of your nipples.

His mouth latched on it, sucking hickeys on your skin.

“So sweet even” he whispered softly and your whines grew louder.

Joel traced your spine with kisses, biting on the softness of your hips, kneeling down to remove your pants and underwear, growling at the sight of your red lace panties.

He helped you out by sliding them down your ankles, then stood up, rubbing them on your chin, your lips, your nose, whispering in your ear, “You’re soaked, darling,” and pushing them roughly into your mouth, “My little slut has been waiting for this, hasn’t she? Feel how good you taste.”

Your flavor spread across your tongue, making you even more desperate, hornier, in a crazy way you'd never felt.

Tommy's teeth closed on one of your nipples, sending shockwaves through your body, your moans muffled by the fabric.

Joel’s hand was between your legs a second later, his thick fingers gathering your juices, spreading them on your folds before reaching for your clit.

Tight circles on it, he made you cry against the lace still in your mouth while Tommy was still fondling your hard swollen nipples.

“Do you want to take us both, baby? I bet you do.” Your husband's deep voice echoed in your ears. You nodded, mumbling with your mouth full of your panties, now soaked with your arousal and drool.

“In the bedroom,” Tommy suggested with a grin, tugging on your nipple.

“We can do it here,” replied Joel, and he approached the table again.

He grabbed a corner of the tablecloth and pulled sharply.

Instinctively, you threw your arms around Tommy's waist, burying your face in the crook of his neck, as the remains of dinner crashed to the floor. The holly centerpiece you had made yourself hung from the back of a chair like a sad remnant of what had been.

“Here you go,” said Joel, pointing to the table. Tommy's laughter vibrated through your body. He took your hand and laid you down on the table, removing your panties from your mouth.

Both of them slowly undressed in front of your eyes, throwing their clothes on the floor.

You stood there watching them, too clouded by desire and wine to react. At that point, you just wanted to be fucked.

Tommy was slightly shorter than Joel but had a very similar body, broad shoulders, a slightly pronounced belly, long legs, and muscular thighs.

You couldn't help but lick your lips at the sight of his happy trail peeking out of his tight boxers.

He was damn attractive, with the same prominent nose as Joel, a thick dark mustache, piercing black eyes, and black curls framing his face.

And your husband... well, he was the most incredibly attractive man you had ever met.

Everything about Joel drove you crazy. His dark hair, his smile, his plump lips made for kissing, his muscular arms, his delicious ass, and his cock. Long, thick, perfect, slightly curved to the right.

You never got used to seeing him naked. Even though you saw him every day, he still took your breath away, just like the first time he undressed in front of you when you started dating.

Joel moved closer to you, his hands running down your sides, squeezing your soft hips.

“Open your legs, baby, let me see,” he ordered, and your knees immediately parted.

It was obscene, the way you were spread open on the table for them.

His hand moved to your venus mound, down to caress your pussy, using only his fingertips.

Your body arched at his touch.

“Damn, Joel, she’s dripping for us.”

Tommy was at the side of the table, stroking his cock as he looked at you naked and available to him for the first time.

“Right? She is. And her tight pussy…”

Tommy licked his lips, jerking his cock faster “Can’t wait to try it”

Joel glared at his brother “Hell no, you can have her mouth, her pussy is mine”

Tommy scoffed, rolling his eyes,“Fine”

There he was again, your possessive husband, setting boundaries despite the situation being unconventional to say the least.

“Isn't that right, honey? Whose pussy is this?” He cooed.

“Yours” you whispered

“Good girl” he praised, pulling you onto the edge of the table, holding your legs.

He aligned himself with your entrance, thrusting into you in one quick, fierce motion.

Your soaking wet pussy took him in easily, despite his thickness.

You exhaled, pleased to finally feel full of him, clenching around his shaft.

Tommy leaned closer, his hard cock in his hand, rubbing it against your lips. “Want to taste it?”

You instinctively parted your lips, licking the tip, his musky flavor on your tongue.

“Open wide, baby, take it all in.”

You didn't need to be told twice and took its length between your lips. It was heavy and warm on your tongue and, as with Joel, you struggled to keep it all in your mouth. You wrapped your hand around the base and began to suck it slowly.

“Just like that, honey”

Tommy trembled at the sensation of your tongue on his swollen vein, swirling around the tip and down the underside.

“Fuck, you’re so good”

With your eyes closed, focused on Tommy's cock, you heard Joel grunt. He had been waiting, balls deep into you.

When he saw your jaw relax around Tommy's thickness, he began to thrust into you in long, slow strokes.

In and out completely, then harder as Tommy pushed his way inch by inch down your throat.

“Such a perfect slut, taking us both like that” Joel growled, his hands clenched on your thighs, finger dipping into your meat, as he increased his pace.

Wet squelching sounds bounced off the walls as your pussy swallowed him whole while your throat gurgled around your brother-in-law's cock.

The dining table creaked with each thrust from your husband. Joel moved his hands to your ass cheeks, lifting you slightly to reach a new angle, making you shut your eyes.

Your moans vibrated on Tommy's cock as he relentlessly fucked your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, making you gasp for air.

When you opened your eyes again, Tommy's curls were stuck to his forehead, a sheen of sweat glistening on his skin.

Tears stung your eyes as they both sank deep inside you, your body hot and shaky beneath them, your jaw aching, your pussy spent.

Joel's hand found your clit, rubbing it quickly to speed up your climax.

“Show me, baby, come like the little slut you are.”

You whined uncontrollably, juices flowing from your cunt, down his cock, wetting his balls slapping against your skin.

Your entire body tensed, your back arched, right on the edge.

Joel was the first to come, throbbing against your walls, long streaks of his load spurting inside you.

You came right after at the sensation of him filling you up to the brim.

Tommy came in your mouth right after that, his seed sliding down your throat as you tried to swallow as much as you could, despite the orgasm that was wrecking you.

They continued to thrust inside you until your orgasm subsided.

Tommy came out of your mouth, a trickle of his cum sliding down your chin, his fingertips brushing at your wet, swollen lips.

“Best Christmas present anyone ever gave me” he joked, reaching out to kiss you.

You felt Joel lower himself between your legs. Pulling away from Tommy and craning your neck you saw him lapping down you slit, where his cum slipped out of you.

He continued to lick it, gathering it on his tongue.

He moved closer to your face, capturing you in a passionate kiss, his seed flowing from his mouth to yours.

It was as if he were trying to mark his territory; your mouth tasted of him and you again, with just a hint of Tommy's flavor.

Your hand was buried in his curls, his cupped your cheek.

Pulling away from him, you motioned for Tommy to come closer, kissing him again and spitting Joel's cum into his mouth.

Tommy swallowed eagerly, not wasting a single drop, sliding his tongue against yours.

“We should do this again” he smirked, nibbling at your lower lip, his eyes still dark with lust.

“I'm not sure Mr. Jealous could handle it again, but I agree.”

“I'm not jealous” Joel groaned as he picked up his clothes amid the ruins of your Christmas dinner.

The first time Joel heard it, he thought maybe he was imagining things. A trick of the thin summer walls, the way heat carried sound through the old frame of the house.

But then came the second time. And the third.

Each night, it was the same: your voice spilling into the quiet, sharp and shameless. Whimpers turning to cries, words strangled out of you like you didn’t care who the hell knew what Tommy Miller was doing between your legs.

You were already on your back tonight, hair a mess against the sheets, thighs spread wide around Tommy’s hips. His cock drove into you, heavy and relentless, the creak of his bed matching the clap of his hips against yours. You clawed at his chest, nails dragging through dark hair as your head tipped back, lips parting in another obscene moan.

“Fuck, Tommy!” Your voice broke as his thumb rolled over your nipple, pinching it between thick fingers until you writhed beneath him.

Tommy chuckled, sweat dampening his temple, his mouth close to your ear.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby. You go on an’ scream for me.” His thrusts came harder, deliberate. “Bet my brother’s sittin’ in his bed hearin’ how good I fuck this pretty little pussy.”

You shuddered, the words hitting your gut like another thrust. His hand slipped down between your legs, pressing over your clit, circling it until your cries pitched higher.

“Tommy—shit, he’ll hear—”

“That the point, sugar.” He smirked, hips slamming into yours. “Let him hear what a fuckin’ slut you are for me.”

You screamed when his fingers pinched your clit at the same time his cock buried deep, sharp and rough. And Joel heard every note of it through his thin wall, jaw clenched, cock straining against denim.

Joel tried to drown it out. Sat on his bed, palms pressed hard over his ears like he was a kid again, like that would keep the sound from sliding down his spine. But then he’d hear it anyway—the crack in your voice when you came, the filthy little pleas you gave Tommy, begging him not to stop.

And worse than that, he’d hear Tommy.

“Yeah, that’s it. Let my brother hear you,” Tommy taunted one night, voice thick with laughter as his thrusts grew rougher. “Let him know how good this cunt takes me. How loud my little slut is.”

You gasped, your cry muffled by the pillow Tommy shoved under your face. But you were so fucking loud anyway, the sound carried right through the paper-thin walls. Tommy was cruel like that. Always rubbing it in his brothers face. Joel never let himself have any fun and Tommy thought he’d could fuck someone senseless and light that fire back inside his grumpy ass older brother.

Joel’s fist tightened around his cock before he could think better of it, stroking in short, angry pulls. He didn’t want to do this. Goddamn it, he shouldn’t do this. But he was already leaking, his hand already slick with it, and your voice—your voice made his gut clench.

Through the wall, you moaned so loud it broke into a sob. Joel bit down on his lip hard, teeth sinking in until copper filled his mouth, his strokes frantic now.

Tommy groaned low, fucking you so deep the headboard rattled against the wall Joel sat against.

“Good girl. That’s my girl. You like it when he hears, don’t ya?”

Your moan was a broken yes, and Joel’s cock twitched in his hand. He spilled hot into his fist, chest heaving, shame clawing through him even as he pumped himself through the aftershocks.

He stared down at his mess, disgust curling in his gut. But all he could hear was you crying out again—Tommy’s name this time, not his, but he imagined it was his own—and he already felt himself hardening back up.

Another night goes and comes.

This time Tommy had you bent over the kitchen counter, palms flat on the wood, your tits spilling free. His hand gripped your hip tight, the other tugging hard at your nipple until you were whining for more.

“You look so fuckin’ sweet like this,” he drawled, cock sliding into you from behind with one brutal push. You cried out, forehead hitting the counter. “All spread out for me, lettin’ me use you like my own little toy. So fuckin’ loud for me.”

Your voice was shameless—louder, even—as he pressed you down and fucked you harder. The slap of his hips echoed, your moans bouncing off tile.

Tommy leaned low, his words dripping against your ear.

“You know he’s listenin’.” He bit your shoulder. “Don’t act like you don’t like it, baby. Don’t act like you don’t get wetter knowin’ Joel hears how wrecked you are on my cock.”

“Tommy, please—” You gasped when he smacked your ass, the sting making your thighs tremble.

“Please what, angel?” He sneered. “Please make more noise for him?” His hand slid up, fingers shoving into your mouth, two thick digits pressing against your tongue. “Suck on ‘em—,” you do, “yeah, that’s it. Suck nice an’ sloppy. Let him hear what that mouth’s good for.”

Joel heard it all. Every gagged whimper, every filthy groan Tommy wrung out of you. He sat on his bed, fists tight in his sheets, cock throbbing, his teeth gritted so hard his jaw ached.

Joel knew it wasn’t an accident. Tommy was doing it on purpose—making you loud, making sure the whole damn house knew what was happening.

And you weren’t stopping. You weren’t quiet. You were moaning for it, crying out like you wanted Joel to hear, like you wanted him thinking about it with his hand on his cock.

And Joel was thinking about it. Too much.

It burned through him, night after night, until he couldn’t get the sound of your voice out of his head—begging, pleading, screaming Tommy’s name.

And he knew it was only a matter of time before he snapped.

Joel came home late from a job and didn’t even make it to his bed before he heard it—your voice ringing out, shrill and needy. He froze halfway down the hall, fists clenching.

From the other side of the wall, he heard you.

“Look at you, sugar. Cock drunk already, huh?” Tommy’s voice was smug, loud on purpose. “Can’t even keep quiet. Wanna wake the whole damn neighborhood with how good I fuck you?”

You sobbed his name, and Joel’s knees nearly buckled.

Tommy chuckled darkly, the sound of a slap following, your yelp sharp and raw.

“That’s it. Cry for it. Bet my brother’s sittin’ in there listenin’, cock in his hand, wishin’ he was me.”

Joel’s chest heaved. He was in his hand, stroking rough, jaw tight as he leaned against the wall, forehead pressed to it like he could melt through. His cock was slick, precum dripping fast, his strokes messy and desperate.

On the other side of the wall, Tommy snarled, deep and filthy.

“Tell him who owns this pussy.”

Your voice broke. “You, Tommy! You!”

Joel came so hard he groaned aloud, muffling it into his palm, his release striping the wood floor.

By now, it was a ritual.

He’d hear the first sharp cry, the first slap of skin, and his cock would stiffen instantly. He’d try—God, he’d try—to resist. To just sit there, to pretend he wasn’t hard as a fucking rock from the sound of you getting ruined by his brother, wishing it was his own cock you screamed on. He hated how loud you were.

But then Tommy would laugh, or growl, or tell you to “scream louder, baby girl,” and Joel would already have his hand wrapped around his cock, pumping like he hated himself for it.

And maybe he did. Maybe that was the sickest part of all this: he wanted to hate you too. Wanted to hate Tommy for putting on a show. Wanted to hate the way you moaned, wanted to call you shameless, call you every filthy name he thought while his cock throbbed.

But when he closed his eyes and spilled into his fist again, the only word that left his lips was your name.

And Tommy knew. Joel didn’t know how, but he knew.

Every taunt was sharper now, more pointed. Every time Tommy told you to cry louder, to “let Joel hear,” Joel felt the smirk in his brother’s voice. Like Tommy was dangling you as bait. Like he was daring Joel to finally break. And the day it happened? Started like every other time.

“Jesus Christ, sugar, you’re loud tonight,” Tommy drawled, eyes dark with heat. His hips rolled deep, grinding until your cry cracked into a sob. “Bet my brother’s losin’ his mind in there listenin’ to this.”

Your body arched, nipples peaking, your hands clawing at his chest. “Tommy— harder!”

Tommy’s voice got louder, on purpose. “That what you want, sugar? Want it so hard, you’re cryin’, waking Joel up?” He pulled out, leaving you empty, making you whine. “Tell him.”

Your eyes went wide. “Tommy—”

“Say it.” His cock slapped against your clit, heavy and mean. “Tell my brother you want him to hear how good I fuck you.”

You sobbed, eyes wet, voice cracking. “I—I want him to hear! Yes, want him to hear me!”

Joel groaned low in his throat, his strokes frantic now.

Tommy slammed back into you, hard enough to make the headboard bang against the drywall. “That’s my girl. Fuckin’ perfect little whore for me.” He bent low, sucking your nipple into his mouth, teeth tugging until you screamed. “Let him hear every damn bit of it.”

Your body shook, tears streaking your temples as his thrusts drove the air from your lungs.

“Tommy! Oh God, fuck. I can’t—”

“Yes you can, sweetheart.” He said softer than his thrusts. “Take it for me. Take it loud. Want Joel hearin’ every second of you fallin’ apart on my cock.”

Joel came so hard it hurt, biting into his knuckle to muffle the ragged sound that tore from his throat. His cock pulsed heavy in his fist, hot cum striping his stomach, his thighs, his sheets.

He barely had time to catch his breath before you screamed again, this time broken, filthy words pouring out of your mouth:

“Tommy—fuck—’m your slut—don’t care—Joel hears—fuck!”

Tommy laughed dark and filthy, hips slamming harder. “That’s right, baby. Joel’s listenin’, and you don’t even care. You love it. Love lettin’ him hear what a perfect little slut you are.”

Joel’s vision blurred. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His cock was still hard, still aching, even as his release dripped down his fist.

This was it.

The last push.

And Joel knew when the sun came up, he wasn’t going to sit back and listen anymore.

Morning cut soft through the kitchen, gold bent across the counter, air a little wet from the sink. You padded in barefoot, thighs sore, throat raw, wearing one of Tommy’s shirts you’d stolen a dozen times and returned a dozen more. You reached for a glass.

Joel was already there.

He didn’t speak when you looked up and froze. He just watched water pour and spill over your fingers, watched it track your wrist, drip off your knuckle. His eyes were flat dark and bottomless.

“Hey,” you said, hoarse, instinctively quiet.

He stepped in. The cabinet handle pressed between your shoulder blades. He braced one hand beside your head and caged you there—not touching, not yet. The nearness shivered heat along your skin.

He angled your chin with two fingers. “Every night,” he said, the words thick like he was dragging them up from somewhere deep. “You know I hear you. You know what I do about it.”

Silence. Your heartbeat at your throat. You didn’t dare move. The hand at your jaw was warm. His pupils were blown wide.

“I’m not proud of it. But I’m fuckin’ done pretendin’ I’m not hard outta my mind when you cry for it.”

You stare at him. At his lips. At his eyes. At his face.

“Won’t be able to scream so loud,” he said, voice a scrape of gravel, “when you got a cock in your mouth, huh?”

Your breath stuttered.

“Joel—”

Footsteps in the hall. A familiar sleepy drawl, “’Bout time, brother.”

Tommy leaned his shoulder to the doorway and grinned when you startled. Hair a mess, smile pure trouble.

“Thought you’d never say it out loud,” he said. “She’s been keepin’ you up for weeks, huh.”

Joel didn’t look away from you. “You wanted this.”

Tommy spread his hands. “Walls ain’t exactly keep things a secret.” He came up behind you and brushed the back of his knuckles down your arm, casual as anything, and yet your body flushed like he’d unzipped you. “Question is, what’re you gonna do about it?”

Joel’s fingers tightened at your chin, not harsh—claiming. “I think,” he said, and his gaze flicked to your mouth, “I shut her up.”

You swallowed. Your tongue wet your lips. Tommy chuckled low against your hair.

“Say yes, angel,” he murmured. “Let him have what he’s been dyin’ for.”

The yes broke out of you like a gasp.

He kissed you like he’d been holding his breath for weeks.

Not careful. Not coy. His mouth covered yours and took, slow for a beat and then greedy, his thumb stroking your jaw till your lips parted, his tongue sliding in to taste the little whimper you gave him. You clutched at his shirt, the world narrowing to his heat and his breath and the way he made you feel like your body had been wanting him this entire time, too.

“Fuck,” he said into your mouth, a curse and a prayer. “Goddamn, you taste good.”

“Always does,” Tommy said, devil-bright. He palmed your breasts from behind, thumbs dragging over your nipples—one gentle, one mean—and your knees tilted. “C’mon, show him, angel.”

Joel’s mouth left yours and trailed down your throat, open and hot. He knelt before you without breaking eye contact, hands sliding your shirt up to your ribs. His beard scratched soft against your lower belly. He breathed you in like he knew he’d never forget it.

“You’re soaked,” he muttered, and the roughness in him turned reverent for a heartbeat. “Goddamn, you’re a perfect little thing, ain’t ya. So young and cock hungry.”

You made a sound he’d heard through a wall a dozen times but never this close. He closed his eyes like it hit him square, and then he set his mouth to your cunt.

There was no patience left in him. He licked you like hunger, like apology, like challenge; his tongue flattened and dragged, then circled tight, then sucked hard on your clit until you forgot your own name. His fingers pressed in, thick and sure, curling exactly where you lived, and the kitchen blurred around you.

Tommy kept you upright, one arm under your chest, the other tweaking your nipple till you yelped and shivered, feeding those sounds right down to where Joel was devouring you. “There you go, baby girl,” he murmured at your ear, his grin audible. “Give it to him.” His praise like he was proud. Proud that you’re so fucking good at taking it. So fucking good at being such a perfect little fuck toy. That’s what he truly wanted. To show you off. To show his brother that he found you. That you were his before you become Joel’s.

Joel groaned against you like he’d been starved and this was the first mouthful.

You came quick and hard, shoulders slammed back into Tommy’s chest, thighs shaking around Joel’s face while he worked you through it like he was memorizing your tremble. When you tried to squirm away he pinned your hips and kept you there, sucking you tender, drinking your whimpers until the plea cracked.

“Joel—please—softer—”

He eased. Kissed the inside of your thigh like a promise. When he looked up, his mouth was slick and his eyes had gone almost black.

“On your knees,” he said, not loud. You dropped so fast you felt foolish.

He brought his cock out, heavy and flushed, the thick head gleaming. He didn’t need to guide you—you were already leaning in—but he did anyway, thumb at your chin, the other hand sliding into your hair like it had always belonged there.

“Not so loud now, huh?” he rasped, and then he pushed past your lips.

You breathed through your nose, hand around the base, and let him set it—slow until you stopped trembling, deeper when he rumbled good girl, deeper still when he said open up for me, angel, show me that throat. Tears slicked your lashes when he nudged the back of your mouth and you gagged, and something in him broke. His groan went wrecked, his hips rolled, and his voice dropped to something dark and tender:

“You like bein’ full like this, little girl? Huh? Look at me.” He tugged your hair just enough. You looked, eyes wet. He stroked your cheek with his thumb like a man trying to be gentle while he lost the plot. “God, you’re pretty when you’re messy.”

Tommy went to a knee at your side, eyes latched to your mouth around Joel’s cock, and grinned like a sinner. “She’s good, ain’t she?”

Joel laughed once, sharp and helpless. “Best I ever had. Can’t believe you kept her from me this whole time.”

“She’s been waiting’ for you too, Joel,” Tommy says as he watches your hands sneak in between your thighs.

“That true, baby?” Joel asks, his fist tighter in your hair. You hum in response, looking up at him, which only made Joel groan something pained and aching.

Tommy kissed your temple, your damp cheek, your ear. Then he slipped two fingers beneath you, found you still wet and slick, and pushed slow till you moaned around Joel and squeezed his cock in a way that made him swear and still.

“Mhm, just like I thought,” Tommy murmured, working his fingers in you while your mouth opened wider for Joel. “You takin’ us both so sweet.”

You rode his hand while Joel used your mouth and the two sensations braided into something that turned your brain to syrup. Big hands where you wanted them. Your own sounds hardly your own.

When Joel pulled free with a wet gasp, you were dizzy. He bent and kissed you filthy, tasting what he’d done to you, stealing the whine you made when you knew he was about to take more.

“Turn around,” he said. “Hands on the couch.”

You went. Tommy followed, delighted, and sprawled into your vision on the cushions, cock heavy and flushed up his stomach. He dragged the pad of his thumb across the head, eyes on your mouth, and you didn’t need an instruction—your lips parted, you leaned in, and took him down until his breath left on a hiss.

“There she is,” he praised, palm cradle‑soft at the back of your head. “My beautiful girl.”

Behind you, Joel fit himself at your entrance and paused there for a single long heartbeat, the blunt heat of him pressed where you were soft and open, the promise of stretch sweet and intimidating.

“Breathe,” he murmured, one big hand at your hip, the other skating up your spine and then closing around your throat like he owned your balance. “I got you.”

Then he pushed in.

You went up on your toes with a helpless noise—he was thick—and his fingers flexed at your throat in a warning you obeyed automatically. Your mouth loosened around Tommy. Your body took Joel anyway, inch by slow inch until your head dropped and you moaned so loud it would’ve woken the street if not for the cock filling your mouth.

“Good girl,” Joel groaned, buried to the root, the praise shaking out of him like it needed out. “Fuck—look at you—greedy little thing. You like bein’ filled up like this, baby girl?”

You made a sound around Tommy that was all agreement. Joel laughed low, pleased beyond reason. His hips pulled back and snapped forward, and you jolted and sobbed around Tommy’s cock.

“That’s it,” Joel said, and you heard the dark smile in his voice. “Show my brother what you sound like gettin’ fucked by someone else.”

You did. God help you, you did.

He set a rhythm that walked the line between ruthless and careful, his hand a collar that kept you grounded while his other palm rolled your hips back to meet him. You made desperate little noises around Tommy, and Tommy glowed under them, petting your hair, letting praise thread through laughter.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he coaxed, voice a low hum. “That’s right. Pretty mouth. Such a good fuckin’ slut.”

Joel leaned over you, chest to your back, breath hot against your ear. “You’re perfect,” he said, words clipped with effort, his thrusts hard and relentless. “Goddamn perfect little thing.”

The room spun. Your thighs trembled. Your nipples dragged against the couch and a bolt of sensation shot untidy through you. Tommy’s fingers found your cheek and then your throat, gentle, guiding your head, and his cock slid slick in your mouth. Joel’s cock carved you open. Everything was too much and what you wanted.

“Look at me,” Joel said. The command ran shiver down your spine. You tried, eyes pulling to the side; he eased his grip and you found him in your periphery, jaw clenched, brows knit, sweat bright at his temple. “Stay with me, angel.”

You made a tiny sound that vibrated around Tommy and made him exhale Jesus. Joel’s laugh broke in the middle.

“Gonna make you come,” he said, and his hand left your throat to slide between your thighs. He found your clit and rubbed it like he already knew the angle, the pressure. “Right here. Loud for me.”

He shouldn’t have asked for loud.

It ripped out of you before you could stop it—the cry muffled but fierce, strangled by Tommy’s cock and still unmistakable—when Joel pressed just so and rolled his hips deep and your body seized tight around him. You came hard, fingers clawing couch fabric, knees buckling, voice breaking.

“Good girl,” Joel snarled, holding you through it, fucking you exactly steady so you rode it long. “Take it. Just like that.”

It went too far, the way he kept you there; the pleasure edged mean and turned your sounds to little wet sobs around Tommy, and Tommy’s hand went tender on your jaw in the same moment Joel’s did on your belly, both of them easing without losing you. A song the brothers didn’t know they both knew. Your head spun at how in sync they were, you craved it. Needed it.”

When you could breathe again, Tommy tugged you off him with a gasp and kissed the corner of your mouth like a prize. “Atta girl,” he said, thumb sweeping spit from your lip. “Knew you’d be sweet for him.”

“Turn over,” Joel said, voice gone rough silk. “Wanna see your face.”

He pulled you to his lap on the floor, your legs wide around his hips. You were open and messy and eager, he was flushed and shaking and beautiful with it, eyes searching yours like this mattered in ways beyond the obvious.

“Okay?” he asked, so quiet you almost missed it.

“Yes.” You framed his face with both hands, like it had always been yours to hold. “Please.”

He pushed into you and you both shuddered. This angle punched new nerves, and your mouth fell open as heat streaked your whole body. He pressed his forehead to yours and breathed like a man who’d run.

“Who’s got you now,” he asked. “Who’s making you feel good now, baby?”

You felt him smile when you said, “you, Joel.”

Tommy slid behind, kneeling up on the couch to watch, one hand around himself, the other curling around your shoulder like a benediction. “Take him, sweetheart,” he coaxed, softer now, all the sharp edges turned to warm light. “Let him see how pretty you are when you break again.”

Joel kissed you when you did. Not to quiet you, not to own it—because he needed his mouth on yours while you shook apart, because he wanted the sound of you right there on his tongue. He fucked you through, worked your clit gentle, whispered good girl, good girl, pretty thing, until you trembled and grabbed at him and begged.

“I got you,” he promised, voice wrecked. “I got you, baby.”

You pushed him with the heels of your hands and he went, lost his rhythm, swore like a prayer. The next thrust broke him open—he groaned into your mouth, the sound thick and honest, and then heat flooded you and for a second the entire room balanced on the breath he didn’t take. When he came back to himself he was laughing quiet, stunned, kissing your cheekbone like gratitude.

Behind you, Tommy cursed beautifully and spilled warm across the bare curve of your shoulder and the swell of your breast, and the mess of all of it made you sigh, heavy and content and wrecked.

Silence settled slow. You felt the thud of Joel’s heart where your chests pressed. His hand petted down your back without thinking. Tommy’s palm slid through your hair, scratching your scalp in lazy strokes.

“Look at you,” Tommy said, fond and smug at once. “Loudest girl I ever met.”

You gave a hoarse little laugh that cost the last of your voice. Your voice gone. Probably won’t be able to speak for three days. Joel grinned against your jaw.

“Not anymore,” he murmured, and you could hear the promise in it.

They cleaned you like they’d made a pact about it—warm cloth, slow hands, kisses wherever you twitched. Tommy pressed your fingers to a glass of water and watched you drink like it mattered. Joel brought a T‑shirt that wasn’t anyone’s but his and told you to lift your arms. When you swayed with the aftershake of too many orgasms stacked, they guided you to the couch and tucked you between them like the most natural thing in the world.

For a while nobody spoke. The ceiling fan chopped summer into manageable pieces. The house smelled like sweat and salt and something softer.

Joel’s thumb traced your knuckles. “Didn’t plan on any of this,” he said, a little wry at himself.

“I did,” Tommy said, and you felt him grin into your hair.

You tipped your head to look at both of them—Joel with his storm‑dark eyes finally calm, Tommy with that wolfish light tempered to warmth—and smiled, throat too raw to say everything all at once.

Joel must have read it anyway. He leaned in and kissed you soft, the opposite of the way the day began.

“We’ll take good care of you, baby girl,” he said against your mouth, that rough rasp gone tender

Tommy’s palm found your knee and squeezed. “Promise.”

You closed your eyes. Let yourself be held. Let yourself memorize the shape of two sets of hands that, somehow, had learned the same language for you. Because from now on, it would become normal for you.

The house settled. The fan hummed. Somewhere outside, the day went on. Inside, your voice finally rested, and three breaths found the same rhythm underneath it.